


Measure You In Mile Markers

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ant watches blearily as Zayn opens up a new text, attaching the photos chronologically and then tapping out a simple <i>wish u were here fr what comes next aha ;)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Measure You In Mile Markers

**Author's Note:**

> This is [their](https://twitter.com/zaynmalik/status/313796437991378945) [fault](https://twitter.com/AnthonyRiach/status/315191333969088512). Please note this includes more implied Ant/Danny than we usually have, in case sibling incest squicks you.

"Danny said-" Ant clears his throat, twines his fingers a little tighter in Zayn's soft, floppy quiff. Pulling him back and off his cock, Ant takes in the way Zayn licks his lips, opens his eyes slowly. "Said I hadta." Ant shakes his head, "Jesus, the way you look right, bro-" and has to finish quickly before he loses the words altogether. "Had to take it slow, like. So I can tell 'im."

Zayn stares up at him, and his hands go tight on Ant's knees. "What're you gonna tell him, then?"

"How- how pretty y'look like this," Ant sighs, "so lovely, Z, so- fuck-"

Zayn smiles, ducks his head to smother it in the crease of Ant's thigh, sucking at the soft, delicately pale skin there, until Ant can feel the throb of his own pulse against Zayn's sharp teeth. Zayn raises his face, leaned against Ant's thigh and just tipped to glance up at him. "You could- maybe take a picture," he says, and his voice is so gravelly already that it takes Ant a moment to process what he's said.

“Yeah,” he says, when it lights up in his brain, implicit trust like neon. Fumbling for his phone takes only a moment, his awkward fingers digging it from the sheets and stumbling over the password until he has to take a deep breath, concentrate on it. When Ant looks down again through the screen of his phone camera, Zayn is curling his fingers around the shaft of his prick and guiding it slowly to his lips. 

Distantly, Ant wonders if he should be filming this, if this kind of thing can even be caught in pixels and code, the excruciating anticipation as Zayn rubs the head over his mouth. But he can’t remember how to switch it to video mode, and he’s too busy staring to worry about it. It isn’t until Zayn raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth to lick around the flared crown, lips pursing obscenely, that Ant remembers why he’s got his phone out. 

It really is the money shot, just like that, Zayn’s head resting on his thigh, hand slowly working Ant’s prick as he mouths the head, and Ant clicks a handful of photos, hopes that one of them won’t be too blurry. It’s hard, when his head _feels_ blurry, and he drops the phone, leans forward to cradle Zayn’s head in his hands. Danny’s the only one who ever manages self-restraint, anyhow, and Ant has to _feel_ it, presses his thumb to Zayn’s jaw. Zayn closes his eyes and inhales sharply, like he knows what Ant’s doing- and then opens his eyes, guiding Ant’s cockhead against the inside of his cheek. 

Ant whines, thumbing over  Zayn's cheek, feeling out the shape of his own dick. "G'na tell 'im you love it," he sighs, shifting his hips forward a little, "jus' as much as we do."

Zayn maybe means to make a sound of assent, but it melts and comes out like a whimper around Ant's cock. There's a little bit of spit shiny at the crease of his mouth, and he reaches up to wipe it away with a finger, gets distracted smoothing his fingertips along Ant's shaft as if he's trying to feed more into his mouth. 

Danny told Ant to talk Zayn through it, too, encourage him, so he shudders, "Can't fucking get enough, 's filthy.” He pushes Zayn's head down on his cock a bit, and though Zayn's never been super into choking on it, he gags and makes a needy sound around Ant's prick.

Ant can feel it, is the thing, and just how good that is always surprises him; he looks forward to it, every time, but it's impossible to compare the memories and anticipation to the actuality. Zayn's eyelashes crumple against his cheeks and his lips go tight, trying to keep from making a mess. The spit slips down his chin anyway, runs down Ant's cock and through Zayn's fingers as he squeezes at Ant's prick, makes everything sound so filthy. 

Ant tilts his hips up- he can't fuck Zayn's mouth like this, nearly bent over him, but that's for the best. It's more than incredible enough in the split second when Ant can feel the head of his cock touch the back of Zayn's mouth, just at his throat, and Zayn makes a muffled, wet and needy sound. Ant can feel his throat flutter, the ghost of pressure and absolute heat, and he presses his palm to Zayn's neck to feel it like that, too, the heavy reverberations of his choked breathing and helpless noises, the bobbing of his Adam's apple and the hammering of his pulse. When he looks up, Zayn's eyelashes are damp, and there's a single poetic tear caught at the corner of his eye. Ant lifts his thumb to brush it away, and Zayn blinks up at him, like he's just waking up. 

"Hey," Ant says, feeling like he's made out of syrup. His ears are full of white noise and there's a leaden heat curling through his entire body. His hands feel too heavy to lift from Zayn's head and neck, so he just keeps them there, thankful Zayn doesn't object. He knows Danny said to talk, knows he's supposed to be telling Zayn how good he's doing and how great this is, but all he can manage is a grunt and then a moan, leaning further forward. He can't seem to hold himself up, but Zayn still hasn't said anything, is just sucking at his dick like he understands. 

Zayn sucks cock like he was made for it, really; he could go on and on, and through the haze Ant tries to make a mental note to suggest Zayn sucking them both one after the other next time they're all together. Ant can go pretty quickly after coming, maybe if he went first and then Danny, he could go again- Zayn distracts him with a pinch to his thigh and a slurp around the head, pushing the tip of his tongue against the slit. 

"Sorry, fuck," Ant mumbles, and he could swear Zayn looks amused. He doesn't let up, though, lifting his head from Ant's leg to take his cock a bit deeper, bob his head on it until he has to back off. Ant stares as he eases away, strands of spit and precome clinging to his lips, keeping him connected to Ant's cock even as he breathes heavily, exhales hotly against the head of his prick. He wipes his mouth absently, tugs at Ant's dick with the wetness now smeared over his palm. "Let me," he says, so cracked he has to repeat it for Ant to understand. "Lemme swallow f'you, babe."

Ant whimpers and bucks up towards Zayn's face reflexively- his cock slips through the loose ring of Zayn's fingers and bumps his cheek. "Almost like fucking, innit," Zayn murmurs, turning his face into the touch, rubbing his nose and jaw and lips against Ant's cock and nearly purring. "Give me all y'come, like." 

"Fuck," Ant gasps, and yanks Zayn's hair, tugging him to the head of his dick and pressing his hips up. Zayn opens around the head obediently, tongue out and flat, and closes his lips around the crown of Ant's cock, hollows his cheeks with how hard he sucks.

When Ant starts to come, Zayn presses further than he has, nestling the head of Ant's cock at the back of his throat and swallowing repeatedly, urging him on. Just when Ant thinks it'll either end or start all over (and that- they might have to try that, someday. With Danny.), Zayn pulls back, takes the last burst of come across his tongue and moans, fingernails digging into Ant's thighs.

Fuckin' porn star, Ant thinks, and Zayn laughs like he can read his mind, nuzzling Ant's thigh.

Zayn mumbles something into his skin, and Ant shakes his head to clear the ringing in his ears. "What?" Zayn grins, sharp teeth against the inside of Ant's thigh. "Gonna take a picture?"

It isn't a very focused or well framed, but the subject is pretty enough to make up for it, Zayn's mouth- his _smile-_ and chin shiny wet with spit and come, his damp lashes, his flushed cheeks, Ant's still-swollen, red cock.

"Shit," Ant breathes shakily, and leans backwards on his elbows. Zayn uncurls from between his legs and clambers onto the bed beside him, laying down close to his side and taking the phone from Ant's loose fingers. Ant watches blearily as Zayn opens up a new text, attaching the photos chronologically and then tapping out a simple _wish u were here fr what comes next aha ;)_

“Could try calling ‘im,” Ant says, after a second of no reply. Zayn’s squirming beside him, and he looks so hopeful when the words leave Ant’s mouth that he can’t take them back. Between them, they manage to get Danny’s name on screen, begin the call.

It goes through to voicemail. "Wish you'd pick up," Zayn says, almost conversational, except that his voice is rough and he's breathing hard, hips bumping Ant's side as he tries to get friction on his dick. "Wanna hear you, Danny, wanna- just, call me back, yeah, mate? Please. Love you."

Zayn hasn't let himself touch his dick yet, because he could've so easily gotten off with Ant's cock in his mouth, and he'd been hoping to hang on and talk to Danny. Now, though, he can't bring himself to release his grip on Ant's tank, the hot skin and muscle underneath. Ant's so much bigger than both him and Danny, and sometimes it's easy to forget until they're this close. 

"Zayn," Ant croaks, petting at his shoulder blade, his body swallowing Zayn's whole, "Z, 'mon, wanna- c'mon."

Zayn whines and pushes his face against Ant's chest. "Fuckin'," he says, tightly, "fuckin' Danny wouldn't pick th'fuck up-" 

“Doesn’ matter,” Ant grunts, hand moving up to the short hair at the back of Zayn’s head and bending his knee to grind his thigh up against Zayn’s cock. “Can talk to ‘im later, c’mon.”

For a moment, Zayn looks like he might protest, mouth falling open as he glances up at Ant, but then he sucks his lower lip into his mouth to smother a moan and nods. He’s grinding down against Ant’s thigh so hard that they can both feel the wet patch on his pants where he’s been leaking precome. “Later,” he agrees, voice hoarse.

Ant nips at Zayn’s upper lip and keeps his hands moving, always moving, like if he isn’t touching every bit of Zayn he’ll disappear. With two fingers tucked into Zayn’s waistband, inches away from his cockhead, he mumbles, “Get these off?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, and squirms away enough to get his hands to his pants and shove them down. “Fuck,” he says, “Wish you’d- kinda wish we’d fucked, now,” he laughs a little, grinning up at Ant and shrugging sheepishly. 

“Next time,” Ant assures him, more confident than usual when Zayn’s like this, wrapped around his finger, _wanting_ him so badly. He spits in his palm and smears it along the shaft of Zayn’s prick, slides his hand in a loose fist up to the head, getting his fingers wet with precome. “Gimme some’n nice to tell Danny, yeah?” His words are almost slurred, heavy accent and lazy tongue, muttered into the scruffy line of Zayn’s jaw. “Look so pretty when y’come, lemme see.”

Zayn curses under his breath, shifting his hips to fuck into Ant’s huge fist, all long fingers and pretty, wide palm. He and his brother are so different when it comes to details, the way they pull Zayn apart- Ant by giving him just barely enough, and Danny by wearing him down slowly, both making him feel like he’ll lose his mind before he gets to come. Zayn’s still got his pants around his thighs, just above his knees, and they make it harder to spread his legs a little for better leverage, but it’s not like he’s about to stop to get them off.

Ant could watch Zayn forever like this, the way his chest is heaving and he can’t stop worrying his lower lip with his teeth, the way his fingers are so tight on Ant’s biceps that there are already marks. For now, they’re white, pressure points that go pink when he shifts his grip, but in a couple days they’ll be green, yellow, and Ant wonders if they’ll last for Danny to see. He has to share the thought with Zayn, jerking his chin to indicate them; “Gonna mark me all up ‘fore y’send me home, then?”

“Could,” Zayn bites out with a moan, flexing his fingers around Ant’s arm. He’s not about to kid himself- he knows even though Ant is younger, he’s much stronger, but that doesn’t mean Zayn won’t go down without a fight. It should maybe be odd, how it’s almost like a game, but it’s just how they are, how they make it work, teasing and scratching and bruising. Zayn nuzzles his forehead against Ant’s shoulder and tips his chin down, biting at his chest.

Ant knows that just earlier he was the one urging them not to worry about Danny, but- he’s not worrying about it, it’s just that he can’t help thinking about it now. His brain-to-mouth filter is as bad as ever, and he finds himself leaning in, resting his mouth against the soft hair above Zayn’s ear, whispering, “Know Danny’ll like it, Z, loves how bite-y you are, shit.” He swallows, hard, and squeezes Zayn’s cock, dragging his fist up tightly for the first time, “Won’t be able t’keep ‘is hands off me, be all your fault.”

Groaning, Zayn sucks at Ant’s skin a little harder, runs his teeth over the mark, lets his tongue dart out to lick at the red spot. He may be doing it a little selfishly, like maybe if Danny wouldn’t pick up the phone now, he’ll see the mark on Ant’s chest later and be jealous, miss him more. Then again, Ant _is_ right there, and Zayn loves him as much as he loves Danny, wants to make him _his_ just because. “Wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off anyway,” he grits out, once he’s satisfied with the lovebite. “I can’t.”

Ant groans and lets go of his prick to bring his hand up between them, spit in his palm and then hold it out for Zayn. “Spit, ‘mon.” He may be distracted with Zayn’s teeth and now tongue as he traces the mark he’s left on Ant’s pec, but he’s still aware of what they’re working towards, here. Still knows the things that get Zayn off quick and hard, even if he hasn’t had quite as much practice as Danny. “You gotta come,” he tells Zayn, “Gotta make ‘im proud,” and he’s not sure if he means that _he_ has to or Zayn has to, but it does the trick, anyway.

Zayn goes quiet, hips working up against the air when Ant’s let him go and again into his hand once Ant brings his hand back to Zayn’s prick. It’s a sign that he’s getting close, the way instead of easy banter, his only responses are breathy sounds forced out of his chest as Ant jerks his cock.

Listening to the slick, messy sounds, they both curl tighter against each other, Ant squirming his arm under him and twisting so that he can grab Zayn’s hip with his free hand. The mark on his chest is throbbing, and Zayn’s chin keeps bumping it as he moves, but it’s a nice reminder, and Ant wishes briefly he could move to leave his own bruises on Zayn. Later. Before he leaves. For the moment, he concentrates on keeping his rhythm on Zayn’s prick. 

It’s not exactly a lightbulb flashing over his head, but it’s a moment Ant will be proud of himself for, later, when he twists his palm up over the crown of Zayn’s dick and digs his thumb almost too hard into the vein on the underside. “G’off like he would,” he mumbles, dipping his head so he can kiss roughly at Zayn’s forehead, mouth sliding in the soft buzzed hair along the sides. “Like Danny likes,” he clarifies, although from the way Zayn’s gone stiff, he already knows. “C’mon, Z.”

Ant _would_ know exactly how Danny does it, Zayn thinks, almost a bit hysterical by now. He keeps his face pressed up against Ant’s skin like he can’t breathe without it, can’t have Ant here without touching and tasting every bit of him, every last little reminder of home and safety and family. His head feels swimmy and his whole body overheated, warmth radiating from and pooling in his belly. “Please,” he whines, isn’t sure it sounds like a word at all.

“Gonna tell ‘im,” Ant promises, chin propped on Zayn’s head now, and he sneaks his hand on Zayn’s hip down. Zayn’s breath catches and Ant leans up a little to look between them, watch as he slides his hand between Zayn’s thighs. It’s a tough fit; Ant has huge hands and Zayn’s legs are still held together by the awkward pants at his thighs, but he manages it, cradles Zayn’s balls and rolls them slightly in his palm as he twists his other hand on Zayn’s prick.

And that’s it, all Zayn needed to come moaning out Ant’s name like it’s his favorite word, like it’s all he can say, all he can think. He can’t keep his hips still, pushing hard into both of Ant’s hands and opening his legs far enough that the elastic around his legs will probably leave marks as he streaks Ant’s tummy and hand, pulsing, breathing harshly through his mouth where it’s half-pressed into Ant’s collarbone.

“Shit, Z,” Ant laughs, incredulous. It should probably be impossible for someone to look both absolutely ridiculous and more attractive than any other human being ever at the same time during orgasm, but it’s an art long perfected by Zayn. That doesn’t mean it makes it any less incredible to witness, and Ant’s only human. Sometimes he thinks Zayn might not be. 

He brings his hands up carefully, petting at Zayn’s waist and stomach, getting him sticky with his dirty hand. Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, and Ant’s of the opinion that it doesn’t matter how filthy you get, because there are always showers after. Showers sooner, rather than later, if he gets his way, but Zayn is more likely to pass out. Ant sighs and lets him cuddle for a moment, because it’s usually Danny’s bit, but Danny isn’t _here_ , and Danny had maybe specifically told him to make sure Zayn got snuggles.

“Thanks for the cuddle,” Zayn croaks, like he might’ve known exactly what Ant was thinking. He probably did, for what it’s worth. He’s lined up along Ant and it makes him look even smaller, the way his legs and torso are much shorter in comparison, less broad. He looks down his chest at the mess between their stomachs, his cock gone soft against his hip. “And, y’know, that.”

“Welcome,” Ant returns, gruffly, and squeezes Zayn’s side where he’s ticklish. It’s not a tickle, exactly, because he’s not that mean, but it does make Zayn squirm and wrinkle his nose. Ant grabs his opportunity and leans down to kiss Zayn’s nose. “Danny’ll probably call back in th’morning.”

“‘s alright,” Zayn shrugs with a yawn, petting at Ant’s chest, almost like he’s trying to fluff him up like a pillow. “I’ve got you. Don’t need ‘im now.”

“I’ll tell ‘im you said that, too,” Ant smirks, and Zayn bats at his arm, makes a displeased sound. He’d be lying if he said it doesn’t make him feel oddly accomplished. Important. Needed. “Y’gonna sleep like that? You’ll dry up all crusty. Get stuck t’me.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Zayn hums. “You’d be forced to cuddle me.”

“Would too,” Ant frowns, “be right nasty cuddles.”

Zayn scrunches his nose. “ _You’re_ right nasty,” he huffs, but drapes an arm over Ant’s ribs and presses his cheek to his chest, his lashes fluttering against Ant’s skin. “Sleep w’me, dammit.”

Ant makes a pathetic little sound and exhales deeply. “Fine,” he decides, because Zayn is warm and settled against his chest, and he _is_ tired. “But showers first thing, we’re disgusting.”

“Sleep,” Zayn insists, pressing his mouth to Ant’s chest in a quiet kiss.

Ant squirms and resettles on his back, letting Zayn fall off on top of him, still sprawled across his chest, smiles at the approving sound this coaxes out of Zayn. He thinks distantly about where his phone is in the sheets and eventually identifies it with the lump at his side, digs it free with his still-tacky fingers. It’s all sorts of gross, but Zayn doesn’t give a shit and Ant figures he’s been following Zayn’s lead for years in other things so he might as well try this now. It’s awkward, holding the phone up high enough to get both of them recognizably in the shot, and Zayn wriggles, so it’s blurry, but it’ll work. 

 _wish u wer here bro x_ , he manages, and the last thing he remembers before closing his eyes is clicking send.


End file.
